


Wake up, Gorgeous!

by TeaandBanjo



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 22:50:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14924357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaandBanjo/pseuds/TeaandBanjo
Summary: A small add-in to an amazing modern AU fic.





	Wake up, Gorgeous!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flashofthefuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashofthefuse/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Drop Dead, Gorgeous](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14724752) by [flashofthefuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashofthefuse/pseuds/flashofthefuse). 



Jack glanced around the suite that seemed to be chaotically crowded by wardrobe.  It was mostly a jumble of rolling garment racks, but here and there were dress forms supporting spangled things in various colors, piles of boxes, an ironing board…  There may have been a bed in here once, but he couldn’t see it. 

Mal, the assistant producer, rolled a rack out from behind something else.  “I have your things,” she said, emphatically, as the hangers on the rack swayed to a stop.

Jack felt the back of his neck itch.  He turned to look. There was a camera man behind him, with the lens pointed over Jack’s shoulder.  Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed another lens pointed his way-- the woman holding that camera had positioned herself between two of the fluffier garment racks.

“Right,” said Jack.  “Things.” He looked down at his shorts.  They were post-bike-ride dirty, and he was carrying his shoes in one hand.  

“First,” said Mal, grabbing a hanger off the rack, “You can’t wear that to ride.  This!” She pushed it at him. It was, in fact, bike wear, but also spandex, loudly colored, and had one of the most obnoxious examples of that logo that he had ever seen.

“Why?”  

“Product placement!”  Her smile was cheery, and her gray t-shirt was completely free of graphics or logos of any kind.

“Um,  right.”   _ Two rides on the paths around here, it will look just like the stuff I’m wearing. _

“Black tie,” she continued, gesturing back at the rack.  It looked like a perfectly reasonable dinner jacket, white vest, and the rest. 

Jack shrugged. “I wasn’t aware I needed James Bond’s suit to investigate a murder.”  _ What exactly is wrong with my suits? _

“The tailor will be by later to fit you.”

He realized that the two camera people were circling like sharks.  He backed slowly away from Mal until his heel touched the wall, and he leaned against the wallpaper, hoping not to smudge the floral trellis design. The cameras attempted to adjust, and now there was someone trying to position a boom mike.   _ Where did he come from? _

“Oh, one last thing,”  squeaked Mal, with her voice tight.  Jack was instantly alert.

“Swimwear.”  Her hand reached behind the black pants with the satin stripe, and reappeared with a hanger.  She unclipped the thing and put it in his hand.

The thing was blue.  It had bunched in the palm of his hand.  

“I’ve got bathers.”   _ They are grey.  They are boring. They are comfortable. _

“Um, no.”  Mal shook her head and pointed at the wad of fabric.

He carefully unfolded it, and realized that, while it might cover exactly what it needed to cover to be technically beach legal, it could not be described as “comfortable”, or “modest.”  It suddenly occurred to Jack to wonder whether his arse had any sort of tan, or if, perhaps, the glare would be visible from orbit.

"This leaves nothing to the imagination,"  he pointed out.

"It was Phryne's idea.  She doesn't want to make her choice without complete information."  

"I'm not one of her knights."  

"You just keep telling yourself that, Inspector."  Mal’s smile got a touch more fixed.

“I’m here to investigate, not to be part of whatever sausage fest you have planned.  Who are your viewers, anyway?”

“This show has amazing ratings.” Mal waved her arms.  “Millions of women want the fantasy of being surrounded by desirable men.”  

“Why are the cameras pointed at me, then?”  

“If you don’t like that suit,” Mel said suddenly, “You can have this white one instead.”

Jack sighed.   “Blue is fine.”

“Good.  Put it on, they need you at the pool.”

  
  


Jack let the heavy wooden door swing shut behind him.  The terrace with the pool was sleek tile and pseudo-Roman columns supporting nothing.  It was a very long way to the far end, where Phryne and the ‘knights’ lounged. He could hear bits of conversation bouncing off the water, but not enough to understand.  Victoria was gesturing insistently to Phryne.

It was going to be a long walk.  There were certain places Jack was not used to experiencing a breeze.

Sidney Fletcher grabbed his arm.  “I’m glad you’re here looking after my investment,” he smirked.

_ What does Rosie’s new boyfriend have to do with reality television?  … and since when is he taller than me? _

Jack shrugged, took his arm back, and reminded himself about Chad, now deceased.  _  I’m here for the investigation.   _

Fletcher was walking away, and Jack noticed the man was wearing red-soled high heel shoes.

A mimic octopus ran by on two legs, before waving a couple of tentacles at him and flopping into the pool to swim away.

Jack’s bare feet on the elaborately-patterned poolside tile took him closer to the storm of lights and equipment that centered on Phryne Fisher, who was lounging like Cleopatra.

_ Murder investigation _ ,  he reminded himself.   _ One of these people is terribly dangerous. _

He detoured slightly to avoid a cellist, who had decided that now was the time to play something ominous and minor-key.  

The four remaining ‘knights’ were all sporting different colors of the same ridiculous arseless swimsuit, and Jack wondered if this was Phryne’s plan to prevent anyone concealing a weapon.   _ Except the crew, and Victoria... _

Phryne stood in front of him.  There wasn’t a lot to her swimsuit, but her robe was a multi-layered Art Deco confection of stiff fabric and puffed sleeves that could…

“Of course I’m concealing things, Jack!”   She smiled and winked. “It’s what I do.”

Phryne’s dark hair was lifting itself away from her shoulders.  Bits of her wrap twitched. Her smile did not.

Now her hair was standing completely away from her head, like millions of volts of static electricity.  

Jack realized he was standing in the shallow end of the pool.  The water was cold against his legs, and he was looking up at Phryne.  

_ Electricity and water, _ he thought.  She was reaching for his hand, and he felt the hair standing up on his arms.   _ How much current does it take to stop a man’s heart? _

The cellist was playing something that sounded like ragtime piano.

 

Jack opened his eyes, and blinked at the ceiling.  A familiar Scott Joplin tune was playing to his right.  He blinked again at the gold and crystal chandelier, and remembered where he was.  Jack was in the castle, investigating the early exit of one of the contestants in a particularly stupid television show. 

The tune started over from the beginning.

Jack reached to answer his phone.  _ Maybe Collins has something that will tell me what I need to know to get this sorted out today.  This place is getting to me. _

“Robinson.”  His voice sounded slurred and half-awake, despite his best efforts at diction.

“Wake up, gorgeous,” said the voice in his ear.  “It’s Mal. We need to see you for wardrobe before filming starts today.”


End file.
